Chapter 14
CHAPTER 14
T he server who led them to their table was tall and blond, and Ilya thought she moved like a dancer, gracefully and with confidence. Which wasn’t surprising, given this was Vegas — people often had second or even third jobs to make ends meet in the inflationary economy of the last several years. He was lucky to be in a position that paid a good enough wage that he was comfortable, even well-off. He knew more than a few young hopefuls at other shows who had to wait tables just to survive.
The diner they’d chosen was across the street from the hospital, and fortunately it wasn’t crowded. As Ilya took a seat, he acknowledged he was avoiding thinking about the fact that he was having a one-on-one meal with a man for the first time since Derek had passed. While Ilya had been out to eat many times since losing his husband, it had always been with a group, or on rare occasions with Anna, who had been the one to make certain Ilya hadn’t shut himself away in his house, emerging only to go to work before scuttling home again. Still, it felt odd to be placed next to Mario at a table for two in a zone of relative quiet, away from other people. It felt almost intimate, as though they were out on a date.
Not that this was a date; it was a working dinner so they could plan out the act, nothing more. They’d just finished their visit to Patrick at the nearby hospital, sympathizing with him over the rigors of rehab for his shoulder. The good news was that Patrick was being released from the hospital the following day, and with the aid of a home-health nurse and visiting physical therapist, he would have the best opportunity to recover and return to Circo. It somewhat assuaged Ilya’s guilt in feeling like he was pushing Patrick out.
It was a stupid way to look at things, but it was better to feel like he was replacing Patrick than to feel like Mario was taking Derek’s place.
After the server had taken their orders, Mario sat back in his chair. “I’m glad Patrick is doing better. I was worried they might say he’d never be able to perform again.”
Ilya picked up his water glass, took a sip, and put it back down, aware of Mario’s eyes on him. “So am I. Sometimes there isn’t any coming back from that kind of injury. Patrick is quite talented. It would be a shame for his career to be cut short.”
Mario tilted his head to one side, frowning in concern. “Are you okay?”
Ilya summoned up a smile. “It’s just… odd. Being out, I mean. I don’t do it very often.”
“I got the feeling you were a homebody.” Mario leaned forward again, placing a warm hand atop Ilya’s and giving it a supportive squeeze. “Relax, it’s fine. Just a working dinner between partners, right? Do you have the videos? We can go over them.”
Ilya told himself that Mario was right, and he was overthinking the situation, something he knew he was prone to. He ignored how Mario’s hand was warm on his, as well as his sense of loss when Mario removed it after a moment. Instead, he pulled out his phone, going with Mario’s suggestion. Anything that helped him not to think too much about what he was doing or what it meant. Or didn’t mean.
Since they were seated at ninety-degrees from each other at the table, it was easy enough for both of them to watch the replays. Ilya could slip into his coach mindset, pointing out where he thought they had done well, and where he thought they could improve. When they were interrupted by their server bringing their food, he was almost annoyed.
Since continuing to go over the videos would be difficult while eating, and Mario seemed relaxed and open, Ilya asked a question he’d been wondering about for a while. Normally he avoided getting too personal with those he coached, but if he and Mario were to be successful partners, they definitely needed to connect on more than just a surface level.
Besides, Ilya really was curious. Mario differed from all the other young performers who came through Circo, not just in his ability on the straps, but in the way he sometimes seemed not to know things that Ilya considered common knowledge. He was adept at covering or deflecting, but Ilya had been watching closely enough to pick up on the occasional hesitation when it came to music or movies when he’d listened to Mario talking with Patrick. Maybe the Carnival had just been more insular than it seemed, but there was almost an other-worldliness to Mario as though he was a stranger in a strange land.
And Ilya had to admit it added to Mario’s charisma. Not that Ilya was affected by it.
“I know you were with the Carnival for a long time,” he began. “Do you mind me asking where your family is originally from? Your accent has thrown me off ever since we met.”
Mario looked startled, as if it were a question he’d never gotten before. For a moment, Mario looked almost panicked, which didn’t make any sense. “My family came from Gallia. You’ve probably never heard of it.”
Ilya frowned, trying to figure out if he’d ever heard of the place. It wasn’t a country, so it must be a region. It did sound vaguely familiar, like something he’d learned years ago in school. “Is that in France?”
Mario nodded firmly. “Just don’t ask me about what it was like growing up there, because I didn’t. My parents were already part of a traveling show long before I was born, moving from country to country in Europe, and then we joined the Carnival and I’ve been all over the place. I’m not even sure where I actually was born, to be honest, some little town in the mountains I’ve never been back to since. But I have American citizenship now.” He hastened to add that part, as though worried that Ilya might be concerned about it. “Let’s just say I’m from lots of different places.”
“Ah, I see.” Ilya wondered at Mario’s reaction, which struck him as strange. He wasn’t worried that Mario was in the country illegally, because that was a matter for Circo to worry about, not Ilya. “So you’ve always traveled around? I bet you’ve seen a lot of places, then.”
“You have no idea.” Mario snorted in amusement. “I’ve seen so much, I don’t really remember half of it all. Though most of the time I stayed in the Carnival. After a time, small towns all seem the same, no matter what country you’re in.” He waved a hand. “But what about you? With a name like Ilya Mirov, you’ve got Slavic roots, right?”
“Ukrainian, yes,” Ilya replied. “I was born and trained in Kyiv. I even made the Olympic team as a gymnast. I didn’t win a medal, but I was honored to be chosen.”
Mario grinned. “You have hidden depths. What was your specialty?”
Ilya waved a hand. “Rings, of course. Or did you not know that? I half wondered if you’d looked me up on the internet and picked the rings for your audition since it was my event.”
Mario held up his hands in a defensive gesture. “I didn’t know, I swear. I picked rings because it is most like the trapeze, and it shows off strength best of all the apparatus.”
Ilya peered at him, but he didn’t see any deceit in Mario’s eyes — just curiosity. “Well, it was a good pick. If you’d done bar or even floor exercise, you might have been snatched up for another act. But I knew I needed you when you picked the rings.”
“I may have been showing off a bit,” Mario admitted. “But I don’t believe in not doing my best, which I suspect I can say about you, too.”
Ilya inclined his head, acknowledging the point. “My perfectionist tendencies are well known, of course. I think we’re well matched in that regard.”
Mario nodded. “But if you were part of the Ukrainian team, how did you end up in Circo?”
“Olympians go all over,” Ilya said. “Even before the games, I traveled to the US for a competition. That’s where—” He stopped, wincing internally. Sometimes trips down memory lane could develop unexpected potholes.
There was silence for a long moment, and when Mario spoke, his tone was gentle. “Where you met Derek? Was he from here? I remember him as being very handsome, the one time I met him.”
The soft question and Mario’s observation helped Ilya over the hump. He could talk about Derek with Anna without pain, so why not with Mario? Mario and Derek had much in common, after all. Ilya even thought his husband would have liked Mario for his brash, outgoing nature.
“He was very handsome,” Ilya said. “Which is why I noticed him among the rest of the American team at the competition. We spoke, and….” He paused, shrugging. “Things progressed from there.”
“So it was love at first sight?”
“Something like that.” Ilya smiled crookedly. “I know it sounds ridiculous. Most people think it doesn’t happen, that it’s just lust, but…”
“Of course it happens,” Mario looked down, then began moving the food aimlessly around his plate with his fork. “Sometimes there’s just a connection you can’t explain. A pull you can’t resist. It happened to my parents, too. And to me.”
The last words were said so softly that Ilya wasn’t sure he’d heard them correctly. Then they registered, and he frowned. He wasn’t certain why knowing Mario had fallen for someone bothered him. It was none of his business, after all, and yet he found needed to know. “I thought you were single,” he said.
“I am single — always have been.” Mario shrugged, looking back up to meet Ilya’s eyes. “I was never with him. The Carnival moved on and later I found out he was already taken, so nothing would have happened, anyway. But that was years ago.”
“I’m sorry.” The words were trite, perhaps, but he had no right to feel any kind of possessiveness over Mario, not even as a performance partner. Yet Ilya didn’t like the thought of Mario in pain, either. But Mario was still young and handsome and could find someone easily — but Ilya refused to acknowledge that he didn’t care for the thought at all. He made himself focus on the present. “But to finish my tale, after the Olympics, I emigrated to the US to be with Derek, and since we wanted to be together and to perform together, we could do that easier in Las Vegas than anywhere else. And you know most of the rest.”
Mario drew in a shuddering breath and seemed to force a smile. Then he changed the subject, perhaps sensing Ilya had had enough of personal revelations, or maybe just unwilling to make any more of his own. Apparently there were limits to even Mario’s openness.
They avoided personal topics for the rest of the meal, returning to the safer areas of Capriccio and their act. After the dishes were cleared away, the server refilled their drinks, and they went back to the videos. It took them a while to go through everything, and Mario pulled out his own phone and began taking notes about things they wanted to work on. Ilya was pleased with Mario’s suggestions, and he looked forward to trying some of them out. Sometimes the terminology Mario used for the tricks was a little odd, but Ilya chalked it up to his private training.
“Gentlemen, the restaurant will close soon.”
Ilya glanced up to find their server smiling at them. He looked at the time on his phone, shocked to see it was nearly 10 PM.
“I’m so sorry,” he said. “We got carried away with work.”
Mario looked surprised as well. “Oh, man. Sorry, we didn’t mean to take up your table for so long.”
“It’s fine,” she replied easily. “It wasn’t a busy night, and you two seemed so animated and involved. It was kind of fun watching you.” She put the check down in the middle. “I can take that when you’re ready.”
Mario reached for it, but Ilya got there first. “This was a business dinner, so I’ll put it on my Circo card.”
“All right,” Mario agreed. “Might as well let management pay for it, since they’ll get a part of the benefit.”
After paying — and leaving a generous tip for the server — they stepped outside into the warmth of the Vegas night. It was never really dark in Vegas, but they were far enough from the Strip that there were long shadows from the nearby streetlights instead of the perpetual twilight. Even as relatively late as it was, the area had enough businesses that streets were still busy.
“I live very close by here,” Mario said. “I’ll just walk home. Goodnight, Ilya, I’ll see you in the morning.”
Ilya hesitated, not entirely comfortable with the idea of Mario on the streets of Vegas alone. The Strip was safe enough because of the sheer number of people, but even a few blocks away from the lights and glamor, there were often desperate people who waited for the unwary to walk into their vicinity. More than one young performer with Circo had met with mischief by not being aware of the risks, and even someone as strong as Mario wasn’t immune to the danger.
“Why don’t I walk with you?” he suggested. “Vegas definitely has its rougher elements. It’s safer after dark to walk with someone than alone.”
Mario looked surprised, but not upset. “Sure, if it makes you feel better,” he said. “Then I can wait with you while you get an Uber.”
As they headed away from the shopping area, the street quickly became more residential, with apartment buildings and multi-family dwellings interspersed. There were fewer people, and the amount of cars passing dropped significantly. It was quiet, and for Vegas, it was almost peaceful.
Neither of them spoke, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence. When they reached Mario’s apartment building, Mario turned to him and smiled. “Thanks for walking me back,” he said. “I appreciate you taking the time.”
“Of course.” Ilya pulled out his phone, bringing up the Uber app and summoning a ride. When he looked up again, Mario was looking past him, across the street, his brow furrowed. For a moment, it seemed like his eyes glowed, but it had to have been a trick of the light. “Is something wrong?”
Mario dropped his voice. “I think there’s someone watching us from across the street,” he murmured. Ilya resisted the urge to turn around, but thankfully Mario relaxed. “They moved on. Sorry, after your warning, I guess I’m a little paranoid.”
Ilya nodded, then glanced back. But he didn’t see anyone. Apparently, Mario had better dark vision than Ilya did. “No problem,” he said easily. “So, tomorrow morning, I want to see if we can work on some of the new elements we discussed. Maybe by afternoon, I’ll be ready enough to try out some moves while swinging.”
“That would be great!” Mario’s smile was wide and happy, and Ilya thought he’d never met anyone who lived so in the moment as Mario did. “I bet it’ll come back to you as easily as everything else has.”
“Let’s hope.”
At that point Ilya’s car arrived, and as he stood by the open door, he pointed to Mario’s building. “Go get some rest. Good night — I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Night, Ilya. Sweet dreams,” Mario replied, then headed up the short walk to the door of his building. Once Mario had gone inside, Ilya slid into the rear seat of the car, shutting the door and buckling the seat belt. As the car moved off, taking him back to his empty house, he found his gaze drawn back to Mario’s building. He didn’t want to consider too deeply why.